Chained to an Escapist
by Lances
Summary: Byakuya/Gin. Gin is given a chance to avoid death sentence if he agrees to become Kuchiki Byakuya's slave. Violence ensues, both physical and mental, as the two of them try to adjust to the new situation. And maybe something else.. Also Rukia/Hanatarou.
1. The Prisoner

**A/N: **My contribution to **Byakuya/Gin/Byakuya** ship (if such a ship even exists). Somehow I think Byakuya needs to snap out of his apathy - and Gin needs some understanding and love (after he's been properly punished for being sucha naughty boy, of course!)

**WARNINGS: Mature content, male/male pairing(s) aka YAOI, foul language, torture and a traditional master/slave -composition. Not for kids under 14 years old. **Also, there may be very long periods between the updates as I only write when I have inspiration.

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**Chained to an Escapist **

**by Lances**

**Chapter 1: The Prisoner**

**--**

_There are some transgressions... sins... betrayals... things that go too deep to be forgotten... or forgiven._

Wind caught a lone petal of a pale cherry blossom and carried it high, high up into the sky. After playing with it for a while, it got bored and released her captive, letting the petal fall, fall down, through a tall, narrow window. Swallowed by darkness now, blind, forlorn, the lone petal flipped upside down and fainted, finally descending on soft, white cotton. The Tower of Pentinence shone brilliantly in the light of the forenoon sun, yet the brilliance never reached the silver-haired man sitting within the thick walls.

_How can you go on... when you cannot go back?_

Pale hands slowly reached the petal, lifting it almost lovingly closer to a pair of clear, aquamarine eyes. Then those eyes glazed over and the petal was crushed, torn in pieces by trembling fingers. And nothing remained but the particles of former beauty.

_You cannot go on. You cannot go back. You cannot do anything but... die._

Closing his eyes, Ichimaru Gin frowned before moulding his face into its usual smirk. Somewhere, somehow, he had lost his track of time and sense of reality. It was not here, not now, but decades ago... When, where, how? He did not know his own history; he did not know his own story, anymore. He couldn't remember if he had ever had a reason to live, or a reason to die. What was he? Who was he? Who had he once been? With slender arms that held no more power, he embraced himself and _reasoned:_ he had once had a life. He _must_ have had a life. Surely he had not always been this confused? Surely he had not always been this _lost?_ Fighting the growing signs of amnesia, he remembered some familiar faces, smiling at him, reaching out for him.

There was a time for everything. There was a time to learn from one's mistakes, and there was a time to pay for them. Gin, however, was already long past paying for them; in his fragile mind, he was now re-living that something he had once called his fabulous life in Hueco Mundo.

He was re-living his death.

But he was not dead. Not physically, anyway. But emotionally... who knew? He had already forgotten what it felt like to feel. The mind games he had learned at an early age from Aizen Sousuke had turned against him at some point, blurring his own mind, raping it with images and occurrences that might have been real, might have been illusory. Images and occurrences that had happened in one reality nonetheless – no matter if said reality was real or not.

Gin was rapidly losing it.

In the distance, far below, a hollow clanking sound of a door opened could be heard. It echoed all the way up to the bitterly treated prisoner, making him slowly stand up on his wavering feet. Hands in tight cuffs and a red choker of those sentenced to death around his neck, he took support from the cold wall as he turned to face the staircase where several footsteps were rapidly approaching.

His guards? His executors? He did not know, nor did he care. He could not do anything about it, anyway. He was powerless in this place, inside this reiatsu-draining tower, and could not even lift a finger in his own defense. Not that it was the place's fault; even if Gin was allowed outside, he still would be just as defenseless. His soul-reaper powers had been sealed off the very moment he had been captured, and as a proof of that cruel ceremony, a large, ornate, dark green tattoo was now spreading like a thick, irregular spiderweb across his lower back. Some poison-coloured tendrils even reached up to his sides, licking his pronounced ribs, as well as curled downwards over the soft skin of his lower abdomen. And even after all these several, seemingly endless weeks - or months, Gin honestly could not say - those markings still burned.

The footsteps echoed louder now and Gin lifted his chin, listening. When his three visitors finally came into view, he calmly drew his parched lips into his trademark smirk. If he was surprised to see the rather unconventional group – Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryuusai, the Commander-General of the Gotei 13, together with Soifon from the Special Forces and his former friend Matsumoto Rangiku – he made sure he didn't show his mystification to anyone who might be inclined to examine his facial expressions. Not that there would have been much to examine, since he did not exactly vary said expressions in the first place.

"Former Captain of the 3rd Division, Ichimaru Gin," Yamamoto-chotaichou began with a strict tone of voice, his long white beard moving slightly as he hit the rocky floor with his cane for emphasis. "We have come to see you."

Gin would have liked to roll his eyes at the most obvious - but he refrained from doing so because he would have had to _open _them at first. Instead, he just settled himself more comfortably against the uncomfortable wall, tilting his head to the side in question.

Matsumoto Rangiku took a step closer, her arms crossed below her impressive bosom. "How are you doing, Ichimaru-san?"

Gin gave her a positively shitty smile. "Just splendidly, my dear Rangiku-chan. Other than the fact I'm gonna die tomorrow, my life is just peachy."

Rangiku looked miserable and turned away from her considerably tired-looking, malnourished and sickly pale former friend. Yamamoto-chotaichou grunted at Gin's hardly veiled disrespect and thumped the floor with his cane again, wanting to restore order and get back to the real reason for their visit. "I'll have you know, Ichimaru, that it is not a general habit of mine to visit condemned prisoners on the eve of their execution. However, at Matsumoto-san's special request, I have made an exception in your case."

Gin narrowed his eyes at the old goat, soft threads of his overgrown, silvery-white hair falling across his vision. "I am absolutely flattered, Sir, I assure you. Who would've suspected such unexpected attention from your highness?"

"Shut your trap, you insolent boy, and listen to what I have to say," Yamamoto barked.

Gin could feel the angry reiatsu of both the Commander-General and Soifon swirl around him, despite the fact that the tower was supposed to be made of death stone. Weakened from the past weeks without proper nourishment and exercise, Gin's knees buckled and he swayed, the cuffs around his wrists clattering as he took additional support from the hard, white stone behind him.

"Gin!" Rangiku exclaimed worriedly, her pale blue eyes shining like ethereal beacons in the shadowy hall. "Are you feeling alright, Gin?"

"N-nothing to worry about, darling," Gin shook his head and restored his smirk, wishing she would hate him like everybody else did. Or maybe she did, but she didn't show it. She was his childhood companion, after all, and nothing could erase those unforgettable memories they shared together. Not even the amnesia that was slowly spreading and clouding his mind. And Rangiku... She probably still held those memories dear and therefore acted like a caring friend, despite everything that had happened – that stupid bitch. "Try spending three months in this tower practically without food. Tends to make your body a bit... sensitive... towards hostile reiatsu."

Rangiku just nodded, looking sad again, playing with her necklace that sank deep between her handsome breasts.

"The reason why we are here today," Yamamoto-chotaichou continued with a purposeful accent, not wanting to draw out this visit longer than necessary, "is because Matsumoto-fukutaichou did some unprovoked research in the library maintained by the Kuchiki family and found something interesting. As you probably know, the Kuchiki clan is responsible for writing down Seireitei's history."

Gin didn't know where this conversation was heading, and just nodded, still feeling a bit weak. He would let the old man speak. For now.

"There are documents in that library that date back hundreds of years," Yamamoto continued. "An adventurer such as your friend here could find almost anything in the files kept within those walls: tales from the distant past, detailed depictions of old battles, letters of varying importance written by our predecessors..."

"How utterly fascinating," Gin said with dripping sarcasm.

"...even ancient, long-forgotten _laws_."

Yamamoto's old, hoary voice echoed from the walls like whispers of invisible ghosts and Gin shivered; the cold evening breeze decided to pay a visit, coiling its tendrils around his thin body, burning his gut with ice. "For your information, sir," he struggled to reply, "most of the old laws are already annulled and replaced with new ones."

"Most, yes," Rangiku interfered with a whisper. "But not all of them."

Gin frowned and tossed his head. "So? What of it?"

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you," piped up Soifon, who was examining her nails near the only source of light, namely the window. Gin briefly wondered if it was warm outside. "It is your future we're talking about, here, Ichimaru," she pointed out.

"Some future," Gin huffed with a sneer, squeezing his hands in fists.

"Enough!" Yamamoto glared threateningly at everyone before he continued. "Ichimaru Gin, it is my duty as the Commander-General and the current administrative ruler of Seireitei to bring forth this matter, even though the personal interests of the majority of the other captains are strongly against it. Consequently, I will tell you that a document was found in the Kuchiki library, concerning the alternative treatment of those prisoners sentenced to death. As it happens, this old law is still valid, and ultimately might save you from the execution, were you to submit to the terms it puts forth."

Gin's face slowly turned from snide to serious, his smirk fading and giving way to shocked disbelief. Slowly, he grasped the white cotton of his plain yukata, his fingers trembling slightly. A chance to avoid death? Who would not welcome that? Yet there was a strange, almost malignant glint in old Yamamoto's gaze, and it made Gin suspect a trap.

"And what, if I may ask, are those terms?"

Yamamoto-chotaichou gave him a vicious little smile, accompanied by a shit-eating grin from Soifon. "Those sentenced to death may escape their punishment only if they consent to a lifelong slavery under one of the Four Noble Families - presuming, of course, that one of these families is in want of a slave or otherwise does not oppose to having one."

Gin just... stared. Well, not exactly stared, since staring in the traditional sense of staring was rather abnormal for him, seeing as his eyes were always in slits. But still.

"Are you serious?" he finally scoffed. "You want me to decide if I want to die - or become somebody's slave?"

"That is basically the reason for our visit, yes," Soifon smiled as agreeably as she could, probably knowing it would irk Gin.

"Well, then. Of course I'll accept the terms," Gin smiled back at her, just as pleasantly, "_over my dead body. _You can get back to the matter tomorrow, _after _my execution."

"Don't be stupid, Gin!" Rangiku snapped. "Don't you see? If one of the Noble Families will take you as their slave, your life will be spared!"

"..._what _life?"

"Gin..." the blonde fukutaichou pleaded, stepping closer. "Don't be like that!"

"Go to hell, bitch."

Eyes blazing, Rangiku closed the remaining distance between them and bitch-slapped Gin across the face, leaving a red handprint on his pale cheek. Gin swayed with the impact as Rangiku began her rant. "I won't let you die, you hear me? I know it sounds ridiculous but I still care for you, Gin. I know there's a kind and caring person behind that ghastly facade of yours! The Ichimaru Gin I once knew - that fun, vivacious and clever boy who once cared for others, once cared for _me _- -" she swallowed and looked away, tears glistening in her eyes. "Gin... That boy... He can't have disappeared completely."

_Drip... Drip... Drip... Dibbles of blood. _

_Blood is the same... just the heart's had a change. _

_Drip... Drip...Drip... Drops of liquid ice. _

_A little winter shower - ah, isn't it fuckin' nice?_

Gin shuddered as his inner demons mocked him, singing a song he'd heard from Ulquiorra Schiffer in Hueco Mundo one miserable night. Gin smiled; there had been a time when he had supposedly known himself. There had been a time he had known _life_. But now, his mind screamed, the games had gone too far: all he knew now was emptiness. His heart was like a hole of a hollow, devoid of any proper feeling... still beating, yes, but not alive...

Had he really been alive, once?

"Maybe the Ichimaru Gin you once knew," he whispered, swallowing his confusion, "never existed in the first place?"

"Rubbish!" Rangiku slapped him again, her voice sounding strained now. "No matter what you try to tell yourself, I know you better. There was a time when you were a sweet, wonderful kid without a trace of that maliciousness that has now possessed you. And I know, in your heart, you are still that same person. You just can't remember it now."

"There are many things I can't remember, anymore. And then there are those things I don't want to remember, anymore," Gin sneered, despite his chest was aching with an unfamiliar feeling. No, not unfamiliar – he just didn't recognize it, anymore, because he hadn't felt it in such a long time. "I have changed. I can't return to the past, because that past has been wiped away from me. Just like my future."

"Gin... Your future is still wide open." Rangiku traced a gentle hand across his reddened cheek. "Open your eyes and see what's before you."

An overpowering feeling of fear washed over Gin and he jerked away from her touch. "You've lost yer marbles, sugar – or maybe they hang around your neck, nowadays, slipping so effortlessly between yer..."

Not even slightly amused, Rangiku growled and wrapped her fingers around Gin's neck, her nails scratching the skin above the red collar. "Don't start with me, Ichimaru Gin! I'm quite serious here. I know slavery isn't perhaps the best way to solve situations in general, but in your case it's better than death, isn't it?"

Gin could not reply, being still choked and all.

"I remember those glorious times when Soul Society still fully supported slavery," Yamamoto-chotaichou reminisced. "I remember it well, even if I was only a child back then."

Rangiku let go of Gin who gasped for air and instantly forced a sneer. "Th-that must've been during the 17th Century or something, ye old fart."

"Ah, yes," Yamamoto smiled vaguely; the kind of smile only old people manage to pull out when their thoughts are lost in ancient times. "We had altogether twelve slaves in the family; my grandfather hand-picked them all personally. It was very useful to have slaves around. They never caused any trouble, either, because I believe they were initially grateful that they didn't have to face the 'Flame Bird' that was Soykuyaku's more commonly used name back then. Death sentences were very popular at the time, you see."

"How very... _uninteresting_," Gin wryly noted. "Besides, as far as I know, ya aren't even nobility. How could ya have had slaves?"

"I was adopted," was the sort reply, and the old man seemed to finally snap back to the present time, waking up from his memoirs. "But that is neither here nor now. Have you considered?"

"I don't think there's anything to consider."

"You would rather go to Hell, then, than become someone's servant?" Soifon asked, genuinely astonished. "Because, seriously, I don't think someone like you will be reincarnated on earth."

"Yes, Soifon-taichou," Gin sighed. "I'd rather let the devil take my soul than become Yamamoto-chotaichou's personal little play thing."

"Oh, I think you have mistaken me, Ichimaru," the General-Commander harrumphed, his wrinkled cheeks flushing. "I am too old to take a slave as fierce-spirited as you are and, as you said, I am not of the noble branch. In fact, there is currently only one noble family whose head is able to meet the slave-master's standards and is also powerful enough to keep you under control." The old man looked at Gin sharply. "I believe you know who I am talking about."

Gin shifted and curled his toes. His feet were bare, and the cold wafting up from the stony floor had already made them half numb, bluish in colour. He looked at his toes, then, feeling strangely nervous. "Kuchiki Byakuya," he whispered.

"Yes." Yamamoto leaned heavily onto his cane. "Kuchiki Byakuya, the Captain 6th division as well as the 28th head of the Kuchiki clan. However... As of yet, Kuchiki-taichou has not agreed to take you. We are still negotiating."

Shivering with inner cold, Gin glanced at his visitors. "You're wasting your time. He'd never agree."

Gin, if anyone, knew how much the Kuchiki family hated him. He had inflicted them personal harm, after all. First, he had tortured Rukia for years - both mentally and physically - and then, finally, he had pierced the ribcage of that beautiful but cold-hearted Kuchiki boss with his cursed zanpakutou as well.

"It's hopeless," he breathed in conclusion, surprising even himself with how quiet, how weak his voice had suddenly become.

"Not hopeless," smiled Soifon, sounding astoundingly sympathetic as she waved a dismissive hand and shifted under the narrow line of sunshine. "Kuchiki-taichou is simply unwilling to proceed in the matter before he hears your opinion about it. But, I must confess... It might take some time and effort to actually get him to agree and sign the necessary papers."

"And we don't have that time. Tomorrow morning is fast approaching," Rangiku added, "so please, tell us you're willing to try this out, Gin. Please."

Gin felt the coldness spreading from his feet slowly upwards, coiling agonizingly around his lower abdomen. "Even if I did consent," he said, slowly, concentrating on appearing calm, "Kuchiki Byakuya is the last person in Seireitei who would want to take me."

"You don't know that," Rangiku frowned. "As a matter of fact, the family's currently in dire need of some extra workers. His sister is getting married within a few months and the wedding preparations are in full swing. Just yesterday I heard Rukia complain to Renji she can't trust her bridesmaid, Orihime-chan, to take care of anything important - and she can't find the time to do it all by herself, either. She's just dying to find someone reliable to help her."

Gin looked at her as if she was a few cans short of a six pack. "Did ya just fuckin' suggest I become Kuchiki Rukia's second bridesmaid or something?"

"Honestly!" Soifon sighed and fixed her poise, apparently trying for arrogant. "This conversation is leading nowhere and, frankly speaking, I don't have time for this. I'm having dinner with Yoruichi-sama in thirty minutes. So, Ichimaru Gin, tell us once and for all: are you even considering this exceptional offer, or are you determined to meet the end of your days? Answer carefully, because you won't be asked again."

Being silent for a long time, Gin shifted from one numb foot to another, unconsciously chewing his lower lip in thought. His eyes darted from one place to thirteen others as he tried to make sense of what was his so-called life. The sun was shining down from a clear sky; the glow on Soifon's white haori was sparkling yellow. And Gin knew it was the time. His future was now spread wide open and he could see two serpentine roads disappearing into the obscure distance before him. Both of these roads were dark in their own special way, coloured in different shades of black. He would now have to take one of them, because there was nothing between them, not even emptiness.

_At least you have a choice now..._

Roads. Why the fuck always _roads?_ Gin hated roads with much passion. He never knew which one he should take. Did he want to die? It wasn't really a question of wanting; everybody had to die one day. But how soon? Could he go on living, instead, if he had to become someone's servant, someone's slave? He very much doubted it. As a former Captain, Gin was proud and deeply resented the idea of lowering himself to the level of the local scum that was usually hired to take care of the nobility's household tasks. He'd had many servants, himself, before he'd left it all behind and started a new life Hueco Mundo as Aizen-sama's right-hand man. And even in Hueco Mundo he'd always been served by Aizen's little pets; weak, pathetic excuses for hollows without a mind of their own.

_But aren't you the same, Ichimaru Gin? Aren't you also without a mind of your own?_

"Well?" Soifon urged.

Inhaling deeply, Gin filled his lungs with the chilly tower air and brought his shackled hands over his face, covering his pale, somewhat ugly features. Then, feeling all energy escape him, he slumped against the wall and remained there, motionless. Pride had no room in the Tower of Pentinence. It didn't matter what kind of a man he had once been, just like it didn't matter what he was now. It had been easy to have others, like Aizen-sama, making decisions for him. But now he couldn't rely on anyone else; he was alone. He would have to make a decision on his own, a decision he would carry with him forever, through his entire life – or death, should he choose the easier path.

Lowering his hands, Gin looked up through the curtain of his silvery hair, fastening his eyes on Yamamoto-chotaichou who was watching him intently. "Yamamoto-sama," he finally said with a small smile, "let's play a li'l game. Imagine me as Kuchiki-taichou's slave. Can you see it in your mind's eye?"

The old man lifted his chin and knitted his bushy eyebrows together. Then, apparently still in deep thought, he loosened and tightened his grip on his cane before giving a surprisingly evasive answer: "Perhaps not. But I certainly would like to see it, Ichimaru-san."

Gin wondered why the chotaichou, the strictest and least lenient man in Seireitei, would want to spare his life all of a sudden - but eventually decided he didn't either want or need to hear those reasons. Reasons were rarely of any importance, after all, and Gin was already too tired with his miserable life to care for other people's opinions.

"Alright. So picture this in your hoary old mind, Yamamoto-sama," Gin chuckled. "I kneel before Kuchiki-taichou - I am his slave. He gives me multiple tasks, but what can I do? Because, you know, I can't really do anything. I can't cook, I can't wash dishes, I can't do laundry and I've never changed the sheets. I don't play any instruments so I could amuse him, and I sure as hell can't sing. I suck at gardening and have never gone grocery shopping in my life - and all possible household animals would rather eat me than let me take care of them. I flatly refuse to be Kuchiki Rukia's bridesmaid. I flatly refuse doing any kind of sexual favours to anyone in that household. I don't know the quirks of the tea ceremony, and I know a pansy noble like Kuchiki Byakuya couldn't possibly drink tea served in the wrong way. I am not sociable; nobody's ever liked me, not even the Espada - and I can tell you they didn't have too many friends, any of them, and back then I was even trying to be _pleasing_. I can't control my expressions, I can't control my words and I sure as hell can't control my actions. I can't but hate this whole situation, because I really can't pretend to be someone I'm not. In fact, the only thing I _can _do," Gin shrugged and looked out the window, "is to annoy the hell out of other people. Meaning, I would easily be the lousiest slave ever seen in the whole wide history of Seireitei."

Nobody spoke, and Gin let the words sink into his listeners. With deliberate slowness, he moved away from the wall and edged past Soifon, closer to the narrow window. Silently, he craned his neck and looked out, measuring Seireitei's wide and beautiful sky. After a while, he reluctantly turned back to his visitors and looked at them, giving them each a full blast of his mesmerizingly bright gaze that was usually so very rarely seen.

"I would not make a good slave," he repeated. "However... Just to get that one last chance to annoy Kuchiki Byakuya," he smiled, "I will take that offer and see what comes out of it."

Rangiku let out a breath she'd been holding and clasped her hands together, looking ready to cry with relief and joy. "Oh, Gin!"

Even Soifon looked satisfied and produced a piece of paper and a pencil from somewhere. "Alright. Please sign this paper that states your consent, and I'll close the deal with Kuchiki-taichou later tonight."

"You sound very sure he'll take me," Gin observed as he scribbled down his name, although it was slightly difficult with chained hands and against the uneven windowsill.

"One can hope," Soifon retrieved the paper and the pen. "But, like Yamamoto-sama already said, Kuchiki-taichou wasn't exactly thrilled when we first brought this matter into his attention. Therefore, we can't really promise you anything. You'll find out his decision tomorrow, though. If you're still alive at 8:01 in the morning, it means he's agreed to take you."

Gin just nodded in reply, his body filling with unusual anxiousness. "Alright."

Rangiku came to hug him, even though Yamamoto-chotaichou looked at her disapprovingly. "I'm sure everything will be fine. I'll even bribe Kuchiki-taichou to sign that paper if he otherwise won't. And once he's signed it, he can't get rid of you anymore, not in three months at least."

"What do you mean?" Gin tried to push her away, her breasts almost hurting him while they bounced against his fragile body. "What three months?"

"Did I forget to tell you? I'm sorry; it must've slipped my mind." Soifon didn't look in the least sorry. "This contract is valid for the first three months only. During that time, Kuchiki Byakuya must keep you under his roof no matter what. He can't send you away, and he can't kill you. He has to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of being his slave."

Gin paled. "And what happens when the three months are up?"

"He will be given the chance to back out from the deal," Soifon explained. "If he doesn't like you, he is allowed to send you back to this Tower to be executed – or he can sell you to another noble family, should that family meet the regulations of the law and agree to a similar deal we have made just now."

"Hell, yeah, I'm _totally_ surprised you didn't mention this earlier," Gin seethed.

"But," Soifon lifted her forefinger, next to which Gin could see her beautiful, ornate weapon curl around her middle one, "if he decides to keep you, it's a lifetime deal."

Feeling completely drained, Gin slid down the wall behind him, slumping into a sitting position. "I'm lucky, then, aren't I? My lifetime's already doomed to be short."

Rangiku looked apologetic. "Gin... You should've read the contract before signing it. There's no reason to get so distressed over it now."

"Will_ I_ be given a chance to back out from the deal during those three months if I don't like it?" he asked, willing his heartbeats to slow down.

Rangiku sighed. "I'm afraid... not."

"Why not? What if I don't wanna be a slave? What if I prefer to die?"

"Then you must ask your master to kill you," Yamamoto-sama said gravely, impatience seeping into his words. "He may do it, or he may not. It will be _his _call."

"But..."

"We will leave you now, Ichimaru Gin. Spend the rest of this day deep in thought and embrace your dearest memories. Stay awake at night and look at the stars above. Watch for the first beams of the sun when it rises - bathe in the dawn. Because, knowing Kuchiki-taichou's stubbornness... you might never see any of it ever again."

His guests left. The door in the distance clanked closed. Feeling nauseous, even though there was really nothing to puke out since he couldn't even remember when he had last eaten, Gin crawled under the window and massaged his cold, aching wrists. As if by accident, his eyes fell on the pitiful remnants of the cherry blossom petal that now lay wilted on the stony floor, scattered here and there. He smiled; somehow, he could identify.

Silently, he wondered if he should be crying.

--

**TBC... **

* * *


	2. Soukyoku

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I know this is an unusual pairing... but I can't help myself for trying it out.

Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine, nor do I make any profit from writing this filth. I wish Gin was mine, though... ;)

Warnings: Nothing of consequence just yet, but in future, there'll be violence and male/male action. (As if you couldn't already guess.)

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**Chained to an Escapist**

**by**** Lances**

**CHAPTER 2: Soukyoku**

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Shades of a cloudless new morning assaulted the sky, orange and grey and just generally too bright to the liking of one Ichimaru Gin. Sitting by the window, watching the last traces of darkness disappear into the faraway horizon, the blond-haired prisoner lazily batted his eyelashes and silently counted the hours between his life and his death.

They were not many. If there was one thing Gin was confident about, it was that Kuchiki Byakuya would never want to spare the life of a man that had so viciously insulted his family. That man had pride in his veins just as much as Gin did, if not vastly more - and he was also known to be _resentful_.

Gin stared out the window, watching the rapidly progressing sunrise. He narrowed his eyes as the blazing sparks of dawn flooded over the rooftops and the streets, making them shine with a beautiful, golden hue. He had been sitting in that very same position ever since his guests had left last night, and he was stiff, numb and tired. He didn't feel any particular kind of agitation about his quickly approaching assassination anymore; during the long hours of the night, he had somehow managed to completely detach himself from the concept of death. He no longer feared it; he was like a fatigued, paralyzed spirit in somebody else's body, grasping the idea of what he should be feeling on a certain level, yet unable to produce any of those feelings.  
_  
Is it spring, is it summer? I see flowers, they are bent._

_Did it rain in the autumn? Did it snow in the end?_

The words of the hollow song echoed in Gin's subconscious, some of them hitting a nerve deep inside that had yet to die. Ulquiorra Schiffer had been a melancholy boy who had hated Gin with all the apathy and disinterest he could muster, yet for some reason he had not minded Gin listening to his songs. Those songs had comforted the lonely shinigami captain in the world he did not belong to, keeping him relatively sane even as his mind was being continuously raped, corrupted and consumed by Aizen.

Sane in the sense of not being completely off the rocker, that is. After all, Gin had never, not even in his youth, been properly introduced to the _normal _concept of sanity.

One hundred and some dozens of years ago, Ichimaru Gin had been a child. But he had been very ugly from birth, and as long as he could remember, people had hated him. His eyes, naturally twisting in meagre slits, had enhanced the slyness of his sharp features - and people had avoided him, both from disgust and fear and maybe even something else. Gin's childhood years had been filled with loneliness and he had grown bitter; his only comfort had been the fact that he had not, at least, been _weak_. People could not walk over him, no matter how much they sometimes had wanted to. His miserable life had gradually molded him into a fearsome soldier, and he had found mometary satisfaction in knowing that he was insurmountable in his power.

That is, before he had met _Aizen_.

Gin hugged himself in the coldness of the tower, still feeling those same creeps running down his spine that had been there the day he had first looked into Aizen Sousuke's eyes. He did not remember what Aizen had said to him that day; his on-and-off amnesia had allowed him to forget; but he remembered how he had _felt_. And that feeling had been the ultimate reason as to why he had decided to follow Aizen to whatever end: he had felt _accepted_. He had felt _wanted_. Aizen Sousuke had come to him, not the other way around. Aizen had accepted him the way he was, and had acknowledged his power. And, for someone like Ichimaru Gin, that had been more than enough.

However... Gin should not forget there had been one person even _before _Aizen. That person, a young, pretty Rukongai girl, starving to death in the wintry streets of some numberless district... With a honey-coloured hair and large blue eyes that were so innocent but still tortured. Intrigued by something about her, Gin had saved her from certain death - and received his first-ever friend.

Why had he abandoned that friend? Why had he allowed Aizen's greed to consume him? If there was one thing Gin truly regretted in his life, it was throwing away Matsumoto Rangiku's friendship.

Gin let out a sigh and placed a cold finger against the rocky wall below the window. These memories... Why was he re-living them now? It was insane to dwell in the past. Soon, he would have no past, much like he would not have a future. Not even Rangiku-chan would sacrifice her life and career just to save someone like him if there was no legal way to do it. No-one would sacrifice anything for Ichimaru Gin, the traitor. He was not a good person like Kuchiki Rukia; there would be no Kurosaki Ichigo to save him in the last moment from the Flame Bird of Soukyoku. Gin was not that important to anyone. Rangiku-chan had done what she could, searching for a way to spare his life using legal methods, but it had not been enough. It had not been nearly enough, if she truly wanted him to live. But did she? Gin shook his head; it didn't matter either way. She could not save him, and he could not blame her. The only one responsible for this mess was he, and he alone. It was not in Rangiku-chan's power to save him. Especially not when he needed saving from himself the most.  
_  
Drip... Drip... Drip... You hate the melting snow._

_Your eyes are still frozen, but your tears will still flow._

Shivering with both mental and physical cold, Gin continued to stare at the sunrise that promised a hot day. He did not cry; he couldn't. He didn't remember the time he had last cried. He had emptied his tears too many moons ago to be able to even bring up the memory. And how could he cry in the first place, when he did not feel sadness? When he did not feel pain? When he did not feel anything but numbness?

He closed his eyes, the image of Seireitei bathing in the morning fire burning against his lids. And he gave up. In the silence of the tower, as the moments passed by, Ichimaru Gin sunk deeper and deeper into his own world, leaving this world behind. He was a tired, forsaken soul in a body that should have been his but belonged to someone else, someone who had already passed away from this world - and his mind was now going to follow.

* * *

He was outside, chained from wrists and ankles, the familiar, red leather collar of condamned prisoners belted around his slender neck even tighter than before. Adding to the general discomfort, the air was hot, almost too hot to breathe, and he felt both thirsty and dizzy. Already considerably weakened by his long imprisonment, he found it nearly impossible to stand on his feet in the overpowering heat. But he was still walking, walking towards the Soukyoku, as he was not given the chance to fall down on his knees.

Dust rose from the ground, stinging his eyes and making him want to cough, but he did not yield to its crude demand. Instead, he bit harshly down on his lip and, by so doing, chased away the threat of vertigo. What a time to snap out of his otherworldly stupor and come back to reality! He was just in time to see his own death. It was a trick of the cruelest irony, but Gin was prepared to deal with it nonetheless. He couldn't have remained in his mind's prison forever, anyway, because that mind would soon cease to exist.

Gin straightened his back and raised his chin up higher.

He still had pride enough to keep himself from falling apart, damn it.

Surrounded by ten masked escorts clad in white, he arrived on top of the mountain. As he looked around, his knees nearly buckled once more; the pressure of several, excessively hostile reiatsus whirling like an invisible thunderstorm around him hit him hard. But he refused to go down. He kept himself stubbornly on his feet, even though he was slightly swaying. There was no way he would give these people the pleasure of seeing him beaten, snivelling on the ground and begging for mercy that would never be granted.

Soifon-taichou probably saw how much he was struggling, though, and Gin was a little surprised when she rapidly approached him and cast a strong deflecting barrier around him. It was immediately easier to breathe, in spite of the agonizingly tight collar that still circled his neck, and Gin could not help giving the small woman a look of wonder and gratitude - even if she totally ignored it.

After regaining some of his strenght, Gin took a careful look around. All of the remaining captains of Gotei 13 were present except that of the 11th, Zaraki Kenpachi, who probably hadn't bothered to show up since there would not be any excessive bloodshed or good fighting taking place. The majority of the fukutaichous had made their appearance, too; the most fervent-looking of them was Momo Hinamori from Aizen's late 5th Division. She looked half crazy, throwing poisoned daggers at Gin with her maniacally glinting eyes. Giving the woman his usual smile that always managed to infuriate people, Gin turned his attention to the rest of the crowd.

In addition to the captains and vice-captains, more than a few other curious faces were lingering in the background. However, their faces were nearly unrecognizable in the blinding brightness of the cloudless day - the darkness of the tower had made his eyes weak against the sun - and Gin soon gave up the attempt of finding out who they were. He would soon be dead, anyway, so there was no point in trying to memorize this moment. In fact... It would probably be best not to think about anything at all.

Yet his mind could not rest until he had met the eyes of the man who held the cards of his life in his hand: Kuchiki Byakuya. Gin searched around and easily located the dark-haired noble among the other captains. He cracked his eyes open a little more than usual and the wind instantly caught up with him, blowing hard enough to make his aquamarine depths gleam with involuntary wetness. Kami-sama - Gin wished nobody thought he was crying, because he was not. Although...

He might as well have been.

Kuchiki Byakuya met his gaze. It was not for a long moment - hardly even for a fraction of a second - but it was so hostile that even Gin, who was used to being looked at with hostility, felt cowed. It felt like the ground below was opening up with a loud crack and swallowing him whole. Those unfeeling, insanely dark eyes bored into the very core of his soul. If there had been a small spark of hope left in his heart, it now died; Gin had lost the game. He would die today. He would die, step through the gates of Hell and be resurrected into a sulphur-filled pitch of eternal agony.

"Attention, please!" Captain-commander Yamamoto's strong voice boomed in the wind, alerting everyone. "We have gathered here today to witness the execution of one Ichimaru Gin, the former 3rd Division Captain of Gotei 13."

The crowd was silent, if not for Hinamori-fukutaichou, who looked pleased and even clapped her hands. Yamamoto looked disapproving as he began to read the list of the various charges put against Gin, thankfully describing each of his offenses in relatively short detail. Nevertheless, Gin bowed his head, feeling slightly confused as he still didn't quite understand what he had done so very wrong. Yes, he had rebelled against the rules of Soul Society - but that was because the place had been completely rotten from the inside and needed to be purified. Gin believed this, even now. Wasn't it unfair to judge someone for their beliefs?

_A whisper in the night, too weak to fight the storm._

_A fate that belongs to no-one, never lives until the morn._

_A song of a hollow, this is what you hear_

_Drip... drip... drip... It is not the water..._

_It's your own, re-awakened fear._

The wind tousled his long silvery hair, whipping it around his face, and he finally felt the first signs of pure horror spreading like poison in his veins. He was truly going to die, and it was going to be a painful death; Soukyoku's fire was said to be more agonizing than anything else that had ever existed in any of the four dimensions and between - Hell included. As if on cue, Soifon-taichou lifted the reflective barrier and let Gin feel the anger, the pure hatred surrounding him, willing his heart to stop beating. Unable to keep himself up any longer, Gin gave up and broke down. Knees hitting the sandy ground, shackles clattering behind his back, the legendary bastard Ichimaru Gin literally crumbled. The gates to his heart flew wide open and he was, after a long period of obscure numbness, finally able to feel_. _And oh, how intensively did he feel it! Every single cell in his body suddenly screamed with deep agony and sorrow. It was pain, it was sheer torturous _pain_. Bittersweet, long-lost, somehow even _desired _pain, mixed with the salty taste of disappointment, a hope that had been quenched even before it had fully been born.

_Kuchiki Byakuya had not wanted him._

The Captain-Commander's voice echoed through the rush of reiatsu, his words hardly making any sense to Gin. Yet again, he found the simple act of breathing difficult; he realized he was hyperventilating. He struggled to get his act together for a while but finally, to his own horror, tears began to well in his eyes and he was forced to give in. On his knees before this crowd of people who had always hated him, and whom he had hated in return, he cried. And he feared. He could not even begin to describe all the feelings that were going through him in this fleeting moment in time, but none of them were pleasant.

Well... except for maybe one.

Gin felt an unexpected jolt of happiness as he realized that his last memory from this world would not be cruel, but beautiful: a small flower was crying with him. Under the blurry gaze of his eyes, a lonely, almost dead Chinese Bellflower dropped a sky blue petal next to his fallen tears.

Gin closed his eyes and smiled.

"Head of the Kuchiki house, please step forth."

The words did not immediately register, but when they did, Gin's tender smile dropped as fast as his former fukutaichou Kira usually did after a bottle of beer. Slowly, ever so slowly, Gin raised his eyes as he felt the familiar reiatsu of Captain Kuchiki approach him. The man moved quietly like some kind of an elf, and almost as delicately as a woman; it was fucking _frightening_. But Kuchiki-taichou had always been like that, cold and aloof - and weirdly feminine in his grace, despite he was, to Gin's best knowledge, completely heterosexual. Hell, the man had had a wife, once; he could not be gay. No matter how much it sometimes looked like he was.

Gin shook his head, confused as to why he was thinking about Kuchiki Byakuya's sexual orientation (or the apparent lack of it since the aforementioned wife's death) in this serious situation.

Kuchiki-taichou stood next to Yamamoto-chotaichou, looking utterly cold and composed as far as Gin could see. The wind was still biting and hot, and the air was rippling; Gin didn't like to keep his eyes open, because they were swollen and they hurt.

"Keiyaku Dorei Seido."

Squinting in the direction of the chotaichou, Gin saw Yamamoto produce a familiar-looking paper from the folds of his robes and hold it high in his wrinkled hands, presenting it to the dazed crowd to see.

"A contract of slavery."

Yamamoto's words were met with absolute silence; only the wind continued its melancholy howling undisturbed. Gin, now shaking all over, stared at the ground. The rocky terrain felt hard and uncomfortable under his bony knees, but he did not move. Pale brown dust swayed around him like a suffocating veil, burning his lungs as he breathed it in, but he did not move.

He did not _dare_.

"This contract has been made between the defendant, Ichimaru Gin, and the noble Kuchiki family late last night. According to its terms, Ichimaru Gin shall be, from this day on, the property of Captain Kuchiki Byakuya, the 28th head of the Kuchiki house. He will enter the house as a slave and will be serving his new master and owner humbly and dutifully for the rest of his life."

Gin looked up, puffy red eyes partly hidden behind the veil of his tangled hair, and looked at Byakuya. The noble had a look of solemn disinterest on his face, his hand calmly resting on the hilt of his zanpakutou. Gin shivered: Kuchiki Byakuya owned him now. Was the man going to cut off his head now that he had the legal right? Surely not; didn't the terms clearly state that Kuchiki was not allowed to kill him? That's what Soifon had said, wasn't it? Then again... Gin couldn't be sure. After all, it wasn't like he'd actually _read_ the contract yesterday.

"But what about the execution?" came a confused question from the surrounding crowd.

Gin swallowed, even though his throat was as dry as Tousen-taichou's sense of humour. Apparently, the hostile eruption Gin had waited earlier came now.

"There will be no execution taking place today."

"WHAT? What do you mean he won't he be executed?" It was Momo Hinamori, almost sounding like a wild animal in her anger. She looked outright crazy, her knuckles white around the hilt of her zanpakutou. "I want to see him dead! DEAD!"

A shower of dirt rained upon Gin, but he was far too distraught to shelter himself from it. Besides, his arms were bound behind his back, anyway, so there wasn't much he could've done in the first place.

"DEAD! DIE! YOU TRAITOR!" Hinamori was shouting in her rage, picking up a new fistful of sand.

Both Yamamoto and Kuchiki-taichou's reiatsu levels flared up and Gin, wincing with the additional pain, guessed they were rather displeased with the way a mere fukutaichou, and a lousy one at that, dared to oppose the will of the chotaichou and embarrass herself like this.

"Restrain yourself, vice-captain Momo," Gin heard Byakuya drawl with a voice that might have frozen oceans.

"I have restrained myself long enough! That man doesn't deserve to live!"

Another shower of dirt came Gin's way. This time, however, it was blocked by a sudden swirl of what looked like a cloud of pale pink cherry blossoms.

"Allow me to enlighten you about the details of this contract, Momo-fukutaichou," Byakuya continued with a deathly touch in his words. "Ichimaru Gin belongs to me now. You will not touch him, talk to him, or throw dirt at him, without asking me first."

Hinamori took a couple of involuntary steps back under Byakuya's famous death glare. "Why? Why are you protecting him?" she yelled, looking both furious and devastated at the same time. "He's a traitor! He betrayed Seireitei! He betrayed us! He's the man who ruined our lives!"

Agreeing murmurs came from some of the spectators, and Gin felt dizzy and nauseous. Panting in shallow breaths in the middle of the cherry blossoms that were actually Senbonzakura's blades, Gin fought to concentrate on what was happening around him. He was well aware of the general tension still growing exponentially in the crowd, even though the glowing petals of Byakuya's shikai effectively drowned most of the agitated voices.

"Dear fellow shinigami; there is no need to concern yourselves over these new arrangements," Yamamoto-chotaichou interfered, trying to calm down the atmosphere. "Kuchiki-taichou will undoubtedly keep Ichimaru Gin under the strictest discipline imaginable, and no harm will come out of this deal."

As if on cue, Senbonzakura's blades drew back, slicing Gin's face as they returned to their master. Everyone fell silent again, watching the blood dance in the air; they waited for a reaction. But Gin did not react at all. He felt the blood spurt out of the numerous gashes on his face, the red droplets flying all around him, but he did not even flinch. Because he was looking at a pair of cold, dark eyes that were daring him to let out so much as a sound.

"It is a special occasion, my dear shinigami friends," continued the chotaichou with a flair, his words sounding ridiculously bombastic in Gin's ears. "A contract like this hasn't been made here in over four hundred years. The law is old, yes, but it has never been annulled. Personally, I think it would be both wise and recommendable if the other captains gave Kuchiki-taichou their full support on this unusual and no doubt complicated situation. It would be..." the old man sighed, closing his eyes "...a step closer to that seamless collaboration we so desperately need to learn. The war against Aizen showed us many things, but most importantly it showed us how easily our society can fall when we do not trust each other. It is our top priority to mend that weak point. And in order to do that, we must learn mutual understanding."

The sun was scorching now, and Gin wondered how long he would still be able to fight the intensifying dizziness. If he didn't faint from excruciating thirst combined with the apparent blood-loss soon, he surely would faint from an overdose of hostile reiatsus. Whichever came first.

"It is for the benefit of this dream that Ichimaru Gin will not be executed today," Yamamoto sighed, his voice now quieting down. Then he slowly raised his staff and pointed at Gin with it. "The sight of this man will always remind you of the days that were filled with darkness and death, thus reminding you of the dire need to cooperate. And before you know it, this man has become the epitome of your _shared strength_ - not that of your never-ending hatred and pain."

A few captains now openly agreed with the chotaichou, as far as Gin could observe through his blood-soaked vision. It had been a fine speech. Scratch that – it had been a _ridiculous _speech and everybody knew that, but nobody dared to gainsay the old war-horse.

"Kuchiki-taichou, you are free to take your slave and go home. You are given a week's leave from work to get acquainted with the new situation, and to train your slave. Abarai-fukutaichou shall take the lead in the 6th Division in your absence. This meeting is now adjourned."

Smiling and crying at the same time, Gin dearly welcomed the blackness that chose that very moment to cloud his vision.

--

TBC...

--


	3. Spitfire

**A/N:** Again, thanks for the reviews! **Versus**, I'm glad you think I've kept Gin in character - I only hope you won't get disappointed in the future, because it's really difficult. **Lingonlips**, if you seriously can draw, please do some fanart. I suck at drawing, myself!

**Edited 2008-08-05**. Thank you **Zayaz** for pointing out all the grammatical errors. chu

**Disclaimer:** Bleach is not mine, nor do I make any profit from writing this weird stuff.

**Warnings:** Violence and foul language in this chapter; it's slightly bitchy and gory. Nothing too hideous, though, I'd say.

--

**Chained to an Escapist**

**by**** Lances**

**Chapter 3: Spitfire**

**--**

The first thing Gin realized as consciousness gradually returned to him was that he no longer felt the merciless beams of the sun scorching his skin; he was in shadow. Next, he realized he was no longer at the Soukyoku mountain; there was no hard, rocky ground pressing against his gashed face anymore. Cool, fresh air intruded his lungs, soothing, as he took a shuddering breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes a crack and peered through his thick, black lashes. A giant sakura tree was looming above him, now barren of all flowers since it was already late summer - but it was irritatingly beautiful nonetheless.

_"...no use for him. If I'd known he was this sick, I wouldn't have bothered to sign that contract."_

_"I am as astonished as you are, Kuchiki-taichou. I can assure you he was in great fierce spirits yesterday and showed no signs of being this strengthless."_

Voices drifted from somewhere at his left, undertone, but they were still clear enough for Gin to make out the words.

_"If that's the case, he certainly managed to conceal his condition well. I've been told by my future son-in-law that he's not only severely malnourished and dehydrated, but also the seal on his back is viciously infected, almost to the point of poisoning his blood."_

_"Well, ah... We didn't deem it necessary to attend to his injuries. After all, he_ was _going to be executed. Had I foreseen this outcome, though..."_

_"Forgive me, chotaichou - I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you for his condition. I merely wanted to express my regret for the fact that he is now so very useless. But it's my own fault for signing that paper without checking the merchandise first."_

Gin shifted slightly and turned his head from one side to another, trying to regain his senses. With bleary eyes, he looked around and tried to investigate his current whereabouts.

He was outside in a lovely, secluded garden. The perfectly manicured grass of the lawn felt soft under his curling fingers, and he idly played with it for a while. The scent of earth and flowers invaded his senses, and he saw an abundance of plants of various size and coloring fighting over the dominance all around him. The purl of a nearby brook was like calming music to his ears, merry and melancholy at the same time. The wind, too, was gentle here; it rustled the leaves of the sakura tree almost in a loving manner and made the chimes in the distance jingle happily.

It was almost surreal.

Inhaling deeply, Gin finally looked at his left, in the direction of the voices. His eyes landed on a large, handsome Japanese manor rising against the deep blue sky. This, Gin naturally surmised, could only be the fabled Kuchiki residence. It was of an ancient build, insanely impressive, and there was a row of twenty or thirty intricate stone lanterns framing the charming cobblestone road that led to a wide, shadowy veranda. Gin turned his head a bit more to see better. He had never been allowed inside the baronial compound before but, like everybody else, had admired its magnitude and grace from afar. It was the largest house in whole Seireitei, he knew, and also the most rigorously guarded and restricted. From what Gin had heard, only one small part of the main house was reserved for receiving guests and dealing with business affairs, and the rest was carefully shielded from the outside world.

_"__What are you going to do with him?"_

Gin frowned; the spell he'd unconsciously fallen into shattered like the blade for Senbonzakura's shikai, leaving nothing but raw reality behind.

_"I'm going to have to fix him, obviously," _Kuchiki Byakuya replied with a bored voice. However, Gin could detect an underlying current of frustration and irritation simmering beneath the arctic tone of the noble's voice. _"According to our contract, he isn't allowed to die in my care. At least not yet."_

Ah, yes – the contract. Gin was now a _slave_. He was now _someone's property. _He was _Kuchiki__ Byakuya's _property - fucking hell.

Gin spent a couple of minutes trying to understand this new, curious state of affairs – and failed notoriously. He, Ichimaru Gin, a slave? Outright ridiculous. It couldn't be true. There was something seriously wrong with the world if it was.

Gin brought his hands together and began to rub his bruised, aching wrists that were, to his surprise, no longer handcuffed. He shifted his legs as well, as they felt a little numb. No, he couldn't be a slave. He was not a slave. But... if he wasn't, then why was he here? What was he doing in Kuchiki Byakuya's garden, lying underneath some stupidly pretty cherry tree, feeling like he'd been ran over by a horde of bulky men from the Shiba clan? Gin growled and closed his eyes. Damn it... He really had signed that idiotic contract yesterday, hadn't he? He must have been out of his goddamn mind.

Then again, Gin reminded himself, he had done it solely to annoy the stuck-up nobleman – not to beg for the frigid ice queen to save his life.

Or that's what he was now telling himself, anyway.

A sudden, vicious bout of head-ache momentarily blinded Gin, making him curse out loud. Shielding his eyes from the flickers of daylight that found him through the cherry tree's waving foliage, he fought back the feelings of nausea and general weakness. Fuck it! He wanted to tell Byakuya just how much he resented this current situation – but there was only so much he could about it right now. He was feeling so weak and pathetic he couldn't even summon the strength to _try. _Damn it! He could not possibly stand up against someone as powerful as the 6th Captain in this terrible state of health. Gin didn't have to say it out loud to realize it: he was on the losing side. He would have to wait until he got at least _some_ of his former powers back before he could retaliate. And, in the meanwhile...

Gin grimaced. In the meanwhile, he would probably have to put up with this macabre farce that was supposed to be his new, amazing life as Kuchiki Byakuya's slave.

Letting out a long, suffering breath, Gin closed his eyes and tried to move his heavy limbs – wriggle his toes, grasp the sleek tufts of grass with his fingers. He felt confused. He had absolutely no idea what this entire slave-business was supposed to entail. Tired as he had been, he hadn't bothered to read the contract yesterday. How was he supposed to act now? What was he supposed to do? Would Byakuya want him to bow to him? Beg and cry for mercy? Gin snorted; as if he would ever do anything like that. He just couldn't see himself crawling on all fours, licking the nobleman's immaculately spotless zori sandals, pleading for forgiveness. Oh, no – that was something he would never do. He was a former captain, for fuck's sake, and captains never begged. Nor licked other captains' zori. Or anybody's zori, for that matter. Or crawled on their hands and knees. Unless it was entirely consensual. Which, with Byakuya, it certainly wouldn't be. Gin hoped.

A little horrified with his own, wild thoughts, Gin quickly dispelled the several, rather disturbing images his crazy-ass brain ever-so-helpfully provided him with, and groaned. The regal face of the striking Kuchiki captain flashed against his closed eyelids, and he admired its cold beauty for a while. Despite all his physical and mental defects, Ichimaru Gin was not yet blind; he knew Kuchiki Byakuya was gorgeous. Always had been. Gorgeous, dashing, enigmatic, intelligent, awe-inspiring, soigné... you name it. And yet...

The man was also intimidating as hell.

If you admired Kuchiki Byakuya, you admired him from a fucking _distance_.

Gin sighed – and then began to wonder if maybe Byakuya had some kind of sadistic features hidden behind that mask of cold aloofness he so vehemently strived to maintain. If Gin was going to disobey his orders – which he would, once he got better – what would be the consequences? It was clear he would be punished, of course. But how hard? From what Gin had head, Byakuya could be quite the dominatrix when he happened to be in the mood. In fact, it was common knowledge the man didn't much hesitate to use his zanpakutou, were it against his enemies or his friends. Rumours had it Byakuya had once even pulled his Bankai against his very own vice-captain; people said it was a miracle Abarai Renji had lived to tell the tale. Therefore, Gin was quite ready to expect several painful encounters with the stuck-up nobleman in the course of the next few months. After all...

Hell would freeze over before Ichimaru Gin would succumb to becoming Byakuya's docile, mindless little lapdog.

"Awake already, huh?"

Gin startled almost out of his wits as he heard the snidely asked question, accompanied by a small kick in his ribs. He glanced up at his right, half expecting to see none other than the regal captain himself – but was greeted with the sight of his little sister, Kuchiki Rukia, instead. She was looking rather tense, glaring menacingly down at him, keeping her arms crossed angrily below her petite bosom.

Gin squinted his eyes to see her better. She hadn't changed all that much from what he last remembered her. Her hair had grown a little bit longer, maybe, but her facial features were still as scowling and dubious as ever. Her eyes were still too big and her mouth too thin; she wasn't exactly a pretty girl, Gin observed, but certainly not ugly, either. Her soul slayer rested casually on her hip; she was wearing her usual shinigami outfit, the same she'd been wearing at Hueco Mundo some half a year ago. The loose folds of the black fabric fluttered gently in the calm wind, making her appear somewhat wraith-like and unearthly; but, then again, she had always been rather sickly and pale in Gin's eyes. In short, she was pretty much the same as she had always been.

Wanting to be polite, Gin offered her his best shit-eating smile. "Long time no see, Rukia-chan."

She appeared somewhat jaded as she slowly shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I guess."

"Did ya miss me?"

"Hardly."

"Aww..." he cooed, simpering up at her gloomy face. "That's too cruel."

Rukia didn't bother to reply, but merely looked at him with silent disdain. Gin wondered if Byakuya had gradually managed to rub off on her – or maybe he had even given her some extra lessons about how to behave in such a detached, dispassioned way. Because, evidently, she was acting so much like her brother now: cold, remote and proud. A true Kuchiki to the bone, even if she did not genetically share the same line of blood.

"Nii-sama's just escorting the Captain-Commander to the door," she suddenly informed. "He'll want to have a word with you when he returns."

Gin instantly decided he didn't want to be lying there on the ground anymore, since it put him at a mild disadvantage. He made a quick effort to sit up, even though his body hurt with every single move he made. Rukia, though, wouldn't allow this – and thumped a firm foot on his chest, forcing him to lie back down.

"I wouldn't move if I were you."

Gin stared at her defiantly, his aquamarine eyes hardly visible through his narrowed eyelids. "And what are you gonna do to me if I do?"

"Me?" Rukia shrugged. "Nothing."

Despite himself, Gin was slightly taken aback at this unexpected declaration. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she confirmed, nonchalantly sliding her small hand onto the hilt of her zanpakutou. "Absolutely nothing."

Gin's ever-present smile was in danger to waver. Something about Rukia's unusual behavior was making him feel extremely edgy, and he didn't like it one little bit. He made another attempt to get up – and she immediately retaliated, twisting her foot sharply on top of his chest, pressing him down again, this time with added force. Gin winced, although it didn't actually hurt too much.

"What's this, then?" he asked with a pout. "Didn't you just say you wouldn't do anything?"

"Did I?" she graced him with a small, arrogant smile. "Well… I guess I lied."

"So rude, Rukia-chan," Gin wailed, faking hurt. "So rude!"

"Well..." she drawled, eyes firmly attached to the blood red choker around Gin's neck. "What goes around… _comes _around."

A shiver ran down Gin's spine as he locked his narrowed eyes with Rukia's marble blue ones. Flashes of old memories, if fractioned and broken, flashed vividly in his mind's eye, and he felt ill. He had tortured this little Kuchiki princess in the past; that much he knew. And, although he couldn't exactly remember what he had said to her that one fateful day, he knew he had been very, very cruel. He remembered he had given her false hope – just to exploit his wicked sense of humor – and then ripped everything away in a flash, watching her carefully built walls crumble, her re-awakened zest for life diminish.

His throat constricted and he was hit by a fit of relentless coughing.

It was blood.

"...well, fuck!" he managed, after a while, and gave a hollow laugh. "So it seems."

His mirthless laughter was heartfelt, as it expressed his current feelings almost alarmingly well. _She_ clearly hadn't forgotten those days, even if Gin mostly had. _She_ still hadn't forgotten – _or forgiven_ – Gin for crushing her spirits when she would have needed her inner strength the most. And now...

It was the payback-time.

"I don't suppose you regret any of it, though," Rukia pursed her lips.

"No... I don't suppose I do," Gin admitted with a clear, calm tone of voice. After all, it was the simple truth; he _didn't_.

At that time, now approximately some year and a half ago, he had been more honest to himself and to his own feelings than he'd ever been before or since. He had finally realized he'd grown to hate the people in Soul Society. He had finally realized he'd grown ready to seek revenge against these people, after being the target of their scorn and ridicule for over a hundred years. And, in the end, it hadn't really mattered who had been in the line of his bitter fire. Kuchiki Rukia... Matsumoto Rangiku... Izuru Kira... These people had been just few of the many.

"I'm telling you, Ichimaru, you should've just chosen death," Rukia said. "It would've been easier for you."

Gin merely smiled at her. "Maybe I like challenges?"

"You'd better. Because, you know, otherwise you're just gonna hate it here."

"We'll see," he replied, cryptically.

"Yes, we will." Rukia leaned on her leg once more, adding pressure to Gin's aching ribcage under her foot. "We most certainly will."

Gin smirked, but that smirk was now wry and forced. "Resentful, much?"

"Pot asking if the kettle's black."

"No." Gin sighed. Then he suddenly seized Rukia by her leg and locked his bony fingers firmly around her tiny ankle. "The pot already knows."

Rukia hissed and wrenched herself free, her reiatsu flaring up. "Don't touch me! Don't you _ever _touch me!"

Just to spite her, Gin reached out once more – and sharply poked her in the knee.

He probably shouldn't have done that, though.

Not two seconds after his childish trick, Gin had Kuchiki Byakuya towering like a small Menos Grande above him. Gin stiffened despite himself, instinctively acknowledging the other's current supremacy in power. However, his quickly forged submissiveness came too late; it was clear Byakuya had already seen – or heard – enough to make his own deductions about the on-going situation, and thus act accordingly.

"Get up on your knees, slave," he ordered, eyeing Gin with those deep blue depths that expressed... well, nothing.

Gin grudgingly did as he was told; he didn't want to be lying on the ground, anyway. "What, getting off on calling me your _slave _now, are we, Kuchiki-taichou?" he jeered – although it was just a pathetic attempt to lighten the chilly, blood-curdling atmosphere.

The noble, however, was disappointingly unresponsive. "Hold out your hand."

Gin frowned, and then smiled again, sweetly, annoyingly, politely. "Which one would you prefer, Kuchiki-taichou?"

"It makes no difference to me."

"And why would I hold out my hand to you? You wanna propose?"

"Just do it."

Gritting his teeth, Gin obeyed; his instinct of self-preservation hadn't yet completely abandoned him, after all. He lifted his left arm lazily in front of him and smirked. Byakuya unsheathed his zanpakutou and sliced, what first seemed, through thin air. And then...

Gin watched, with widening eyes, how his left hand fingers dropped off, one by one, except for the thumb.

"N...n-n-nani...?"

"First lesson of the day, slave," said the master of the house, tonelessly. "If my sister tells you not to touch her, you will not touch her."

Face sprinkled with fresh droplets of blood, Gin cradled the injured hand against his chest and gaped at the stoic noble. "What the fuck, Kuchiki! Did you just fucking cut my fingers off?"

"As you see."

"B-but... but you just don't _do_ that!" Gin gulped for air. "You can't just go cutting off people's fingers, for fuck's sake!"

"Don't make me cut off your _head,_" Byakuya retorted, rather dryly. "Now... Avert your eyes, slave, and never look me in the eye again. In fact... You're not allowed to look _anyone _in the eye, unless I give you special permission. Is this understood?"

Better judgement battled down Gin's stubbornness and he looked down, although mostly (he told himself) because he wanted to locate his missing fingers. At least he'd now gotten an answer to his earlier questions concerning Byakuya's possible sadistic tendencies. Damn it – the man was a fucking blood-lusting monster behind that calm exterior of his! Kuchiki Byakuya, the epitome of calmness and staid reflection, had suddenly turned into a savage! Gin had not quite seen it coming. He had known Byakuya since their academy days, after all, and had never considered the nobleman capable of being this brash, this brutal before.

"I asked you a question, slave."

"I don't remember you asking me anything," Gin murmured with venom, his gaze desperately roaming the grassy ground.

"I suggest you try to sharpen your memory, then."

Straightening his shoulders, Gin just looked sour, ignoring the blood that was seeping into the texture of his plain, white yukata from his injured hand. "And I suggest _you_ go to Hell."

Not exactly amused by Gin's insolence and stubbornness, Byakuya didn't waste time in twining his fingers around the other man's neck and pressing hard down, making it impossible for Gin to breathe. "I'm not sure if you have yet grasped what it means to be a slave in this household," he said, probably angry, even though his silky voice didn't betray any particular emotion. "I am your owner now; you are my property. You no longer have any personal rights. I did not want you, yet I was forced to take you nonetheless. Therefore, I will at least make sure you won't get in the way of my home life amenities, nor aggravate the members of this family with your annoying manners."

Gin made a choking sound as the words swept over him. What was it with these people, wanting to strangle him all the time? First Rangiku-chan, yesterday in the Tower, and now Byakuya...

"You will act humble and obey my every command," the latter continued. "You will do so instantly, without raising any objections or asking any questions. I will not tolerate any kind of offensive behaviour from you. Rukia is my sister and thus second when it comes to commanding you, and you will show her the same respect you will show me. Is this clear?"

Gurgling pitifully, Gin tried to push Byakuya's hand away with his own, uninjured one – but the fingers kept slipping away because they were covered in so much blood.

Byakuya sighed, looking down at him with frustration mixed with contempt. "I don't think this is too hard for you to understand, Ichimaru Gin. I happen to be under the impression that, although you are tactless, spiteful and prone to making foolish decisions, you are not, in fact, entirely stupid. Or are you?"

Still unable to reply in any kind of intelligible manner, Gin resorted to a vicious glare. Byakuya released his grip and shoved him violently back to the ground.

"Apologize to my sister."

"F-fuck you, Kuchiki! I ain't apologizing for something as stupid as this!_"_ Gin coughed, his words coming out in a pathetic wheeze.

"I absolutely hate it when I have to repeat myself." Byakuya stepped closer, staring down at Gin without mercy. "But in this case, I must apparently do so. And you should listen carefully, because I'm not going to adopt the habit."

Gin held still, panting. Burning pain spread like wildfire from both his mauled hand and his infected tattoos, intensifying by the minute, making his hands tremble and his brow sweat. He hated to admit it, but he was frightened. Byakuya was acting totally out of his usually rigid character at the moment: his actions were random, his thoughts alarmingly unpredictable. And that, if anything, made Gin feel nervous.

"I believe I have your undivided attention at the moment?"

Hesitating only a moment, Gin quickly inclined his head as if to nod.

"Good. Now... I will give you two possibilities to solve this tacky situation." There was a small pause, before the noble went on. "You can continue your rebellious behaviour and _not _apologize, in which case I will let you go to your room to clean up just like nothing happened. Only without your left hand fingers. _Or_," he crossed his arms, "you can obey and apologize to my sister, then apologize to _me_, and I might consider inviting Inoue Orihime-san over to heal your injury in the near future."

Gin just opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. The pain in his hand was terrible yet tolerable; he'd long ago promised himself to take any injury proudly like a true shinigami captain would, and he'd seriously gotten used to all kinds of pain by now. But the fact that four of his left hand fingers were now actually missing was an unexpected (and very uncomfortable) impediment. If Byakuya continued slicing parts of him off, he didn't know what would be left of him soon. The contract only reserved the right to _kill _him; it probably didn't say anything about _dismembering_.

Gin shifted his gaze to Rukia, who was standing next to her brother, slightly anxious but still furious. Could he do it? Apologize to this useless shinigami girl who wasn't even distinguished enough to get a seated position in her squad? Gin bristled. He, a former captain, to do such a mortifying thing? Outrageous!

"Shall we have your answer, slave?" Byakuya asked, sounding even more wintry than before, if that was possible. "Would you rather keep your pride – or your fingers?"

Trying to calm his breathing, Gin struggled to get back up to his knees. Ah, fuck! Byakuya was not only cruel, but also clever. Sure, Gin could go on living without his left hand fingers, somehow – but what would be next in line? He couldn't keep on losing body parts forever, and something in Byakuya's eyes told Gin he would be losing them even faster than what he'd lost his credibility as a captain if he wouldn't start obeying soon. And he wouldn't, of course. He once again reminded himself that he had only entered this dreary deal because he wanted to spite the pretty-ass Kuchiki captain out of his pansy fucking closet – not because he actually wanted to stay alive. However... There was no denying that his plan was miserably failing. Holding onto his pride, at least for the moment, would become very, very expensive. _Too _expensive.

He mumbled an acid apology through his teeth.

"Hn. It seems you're still in the possession of at least some amount of common sense," Byakuya sourly observed, not too impressed with Gin's performance. "Rukia, do you accept?"

"I don't know," the girl replied, looking annoyed. "I wish he'd sound a bit more honest. Even if I know he really isn't."

The look Gin threw at her would have been vicious enough to skin a weaker person alive. Yet Rukia held her ground, for once sure of her advantage, and did not even flinch. Gin recognized this as a bad sign and, before Byakuya could intervene, swallowed his pride, adopted a more humble expression and forced himself to bow a little. "I have been rude, Rukia-sama, Byakuya-sama. Please accept my simple apology, since I don't know how to express myself better due to complete lack of prior experience. _Hontooni__ gomennasai_."

Both Rukia and Byakuya were silent for a moment, apparently considering how to respond to this surprising, yet seemingly genuine effort. Of course it was blatantly clear there was no true feeling behind Gin's words – but there was absolutely nothing they could do about _that. _Gin was still the master of his own mind, with or without certain body parts; and even though Kuchiki Byakuya now legally owned his body and ruled his actions, he could never own his heart and rule his mind.

Gin looked up, meeting Byakuya's sharp eyes.

"I believe that will do for now," the captain finally spoke, not breaking the gaze.

Rukia, likewise, sounded mollified enough. "Yes. That's enough for now."

Gin smirked, satisfied with himself; but he was in for another surprise. Quite as unexpectedly as he'd drawn his soul slayer the first time, Byakuya now did it again: Senbonzakura flashed, and the tip of the sharp blade scratched Gin's face, drawing more blood from a place right below his left eye.

"I told you never to look at me in the eye, slave," he spoke. "If you want to maintain your ability to see _at all_, I suggest you remember that rule."

Tasting fresh blood on his lips, flowing from the gash like a small river, Gin lowered his face and closed his eyes. He was in a mild state of shock despite he had experienced much worse during the long course of his life. He fought against the vertigo that tried to swallow him once more; he had been in a pretty bad shape already before this torture (to put it lightly), and Kuchiki-taichou's merciless approach wasn't helping him at all to adjust to his new situation.

Something snapped in Gin's brain; he was back in the Tower again, staring at the sunset, dying inside. The taste of metal, the feel of blood in his mouth began to work as a conduit between the real world and his own, and he began to fall back into a realm where no-one could follow. The beautiful garden around him changed into a blurry grey ocean where hollow-like fish hunted each other; the sky above him began to weep with blood-stained snow, the flakes melting on his upturned face, tasting bitter, tasting sweet. One moment, Gin was back in his childhood Rukongai, shivering with cold in the winter, trying to find shelter but in vain; people were glaring at him, wishing him dead. Next, he was back in Seireitei, hiding his bitter heart beneath a mask of infuriating cheerfulness; he was smiling at his fellow shinigami, smiling even at those he'd much rather had vomited on. Gin vaguely realized he was retching; more blood sprouted from his insides, staining the dull green mattress of grass beneath him with blackened red. But he was no longer in Seireitei, oh no; he was in a world of darkness. There was no sun; only the moon, pale and lonely, was shining from the bottomless, black sky, making his white clothes shimmer along with his silvery hair. Hueco Mundo... a place where souls were lost; souls that were void of any feeling; souls that knew nothing about anything better.

Gin's eyes snapped open when he felt sudden pain; someone was pulling at his hair. It was Byakuya, shaking him.

"Snap out of it, Gin!" he demanded and then released his hold. "Rukia, fetch Hanatarou. I believe our new slave doesn't feel too well."

Rukia, hugging herself as if fighting off cold shivers, nodded curtly and walked briskly away, disappearing inside the mansion through a pair of grand sliding doors. Soon, Gin was left all alone with his new master. Byakuya began to clean his blood-spattered zanpakutou on Gin's yukata, sliding the blade over his slave's hunched shoulder. Gin, in turn, just stared forwards and said nothing. It was not his place to say anything. Not now.

"I sincerely hope you have learned something from this unfortunate episode, Gin," the noble's voice drifted from somewhere above him. "It's in your own best interests if you can adapt to the rules of this house as fast as possible."

Cradling his injured hand against his chest, Gin glanced up in the direction of the black-haired captain – only to find himself staring at Senbonzakura's blade once again.

"Mind your eyes."

Swallowing the bloody lump that had yet again formed in his throat – Gin realized he'd bitten his tongue at some point, and it was now bleeding – Gin did. He nodded silently and looked away, his surroundings coming and going from his focus as his mind reeled. He would probably lose it again, soon, his sanity; and also yet another part of his fleeting memory. But he would be damned if he didn't fight it.

"I wish you'd be more careful in future," Byakuya continued with his bored tone of voice, "because I honestly think your eyes are better attached to where they are, instead of being gauged out of their sockets for punishment."

Gin saw the blade retreat, but didn't dare move a muscle anymore.

"Don't look so desperate. You'll not find my rules impossibly hard to follow, I assure you. And I, in return, will not expect miracles from you."

Gin heard the words; they were, after all, explicitly articulated. Yet he didn't quite comprehend what was being said. He felt like an outsider in his own body again; he wanted to rebel, wanted to yell, wanted to fight, but his body wouldn't allow him to do any of these things.

"Are you still listening to me, slave?"

"Y-yes," he replied, quietly, demurely, as if someone else had spoken for him.

"Pick up your fingers from the ground."

Fighting another rush of nausea, Gin hesitantly bent down and moved about on his knees, using his undamaged hand to accomplish the task he was given. When all of the four missing digits were finally resting in his blood-soaked lap, he sat back again, not really knowing what he should do next. Try to place them back? He nearly laughed, but was glad to be able to hold it in check. It wouldn't do to show Byakuya just _how _insane he already felt he was going.

"Get up and go sit on the veranda. You must eat something. Your famished appearance is outright disgusting."

Knowing he had never been anything but disgusting in other people's eyes, Gin didn't take much offense at Byakuya's harsh words. He had gotten used to being insulted already long ago. _Fox-face... _That had been his most popular nickname for the past several decades. Although, he had to admit, he hadn't seen himself in a mirror in a very long time; if he had been unattractive before, he must now look positively _ugly_.

"I recommend you obey my commands within a certain timeframe, Gin."

Feeling too faint to set his face against the Kuchiki captain anymore, Gin rose up to his feet and dragged himself towards the veranda. He figured it would be best to lay back for a while and properly assess the situation. He could always resume his defiant behavior when he was feeling a bit stronger. Right now, though, he was in danger of collapsing at any given moment.

Knees wobbling, he carefully knelt on a soft, green, beautifully embroidered cushion next to a low Japanese table that had suddenly materialized in front of him. Visceral common sense guided his movements as he made sure his gory clothes, let alone his still-bleeding hand, did not dirty the furniture; he was sure Kuchiki-taichou would not fail to lash out at him once more if he did something as childish as intentionally spoil his expensive decor.

"A cup of ramen," Byakuya's voice intruded his consciousness once more, but the man wasn't talking to him, but to some servant in the shadows of the house. "Miso ramen. Make sure the soup is plenty and warm."

Gin's stomach lurched. How the fuck was he supposed to eat something with four severed fingers staring at him from his lap? His own fingers, no less. Normal people lost their appetite for even lesser reasons, and Gin didn't consider him _that _much different, yet. Besides... He didn't quite feel alright. He'd just thrown up blood, after all.

Byakuya calmly sat opposite to him, gracefully like some sort of spiritual being, and beckoned a maid to pour him some tea. "Ichimaru?"

Gin flinched, but otherwise held still. "...yes?"

"In spite of what you may think, I know exactly what is going on in your mind."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Gin vaguely replied, his mind already a tad unclear. "It's good at least one of us does."

"You signed the contract because you thought it would be a good joke. However, whether you take these new arrangements seriously or not, I still won't tolerate any kind of insolence from your part. As a sign of that, I believe you've already had a taste of what might happen when I lose my patience with you."

Not knowing what to say, Gin didn't say anything – just stared at the wood of the table in front of him.

"I understand, of course, that you're not yet done protesting against your fate. I know you're not naturally inclined to yield to other people's demands, which is why it will take some time before we can sufficiently understand each other. However," Byakuya calmly brought the intricate porcelain tea-cup to his lips and took a sip of the steaming, hot liquid. "I advise you to restrain your fiery impulses for the time being. You should concentrate on regaining your strength, first and foremost. I find no pleasure in arguing with powerless, defenceless men."

Gin was absolutely certain Byakuya was smirking, but he didn't dare venture to look at him. The miso soup was finally brought in front of him, and he glared at it suspiciously. It wasn't probably poisoned, though, but Gin had absolutely no appetite. Luckily, his struggles went unnoticed as Rukia chose that moment to return to the house. Gin automatically glanced up...

...and instantly felt his cheek burn with stinging pain.

Gin's mouth went slack: Byakuya had just slapped him. _Slapped _him. Not punched him, not socked him in the nose, but fucking _slapped _him. Like some fucking _bitch_.

"Looking people in the eye is prohibited," Byakuya reminded him with a voice verging on tired. "How many times must I remind you of that?"

"I... was just looking at her _jaw_," Gin growled, touching his cheek carefully with his gory fingers.

"Is that so?" Byakuya sounded morbidly amused. "In that case, just to avoid further misunderstandings – from now on, you're not allowed to look at anyone in the face, or anywhere near it. Understood?"

Gin bit down on his lower lip before grunting his reluctant 'yes'.

"Good." Byakuya picked up his tea again. "You will get used to it soon enough. As to what else is expected from your future behaviour in this house, I'll provide you with a written list of rules concerning the matter. You must read and memorize those rules as quickly as possible, as I expect you to know them by heart tomorrow morning."

Gin said nothing; he felt dull and stupid. And sick. And angry. And frustrated. And so very, very tired.

Rukia, who had been hovering in the background during this short and somewhat aggressive exchange, hesitated for a moment before plopping down onto a green cushion between them. "Nii-sama?"

"Yes, Rukia-chan?"

"Hanatarou-san couldn't be relieved from his present duties. It seems the entire 4th Squad is having some sort of important meeting he's forced to attend, and it's likely to last until eight or nine in the evening."

"Hm?" Byakuya voiced, rather noncommittally, yet curiously enough to indicate that he was wondering whether there could actually be anything of importance to be discussed at a meeting of such a lowly squad as the Fourth. Gin whole-heartedly shared the doubt, although he didn't voice it.

"I... I'm sorry," Rukia added, as an afterthought, as if being afraid of her own brother.

"No, it's alright," was the curt reply. "Gin, do you think you can make it until the evening?"

Gin gave him a wry smile – and nodded. "I've had it worse."

"I don't doubt it. Now, eat your soup."

Gin glanced at the steaming pot of ramen. "I ain't gonna eat that shit."

"You will eat," Byakuya said with a tone that held no argument. "And when you're done, my servant will show you to your room. I want you to clean up and make yourself presentable. We'll be attending a family council tonight, where your situation will be more thoroughly discussed."

"I can't eat. My insides are bleeding."

"No, they're not," Rukia intervened with a snort. "Hanatarou checked you already once this morning and found no internal damage. You've just probably bitten your tongue too hard."

"But I..."

"You heard her," Byakuya calmly said as he laid his tea-cup gently down on its tray and reached for a cookie. "Get to it."

Fighting queasiness, Gin reluctantly reached for the chopsticks provided for him and began to fish some noodles from his soup. He still had no appetite, but his stomach was growling in a way that promised serious internal rebellion if he didn't obey its demands. He picked up the spoon and tasted the hot, steaming soup; to his surprise, he found it actually delicious.

Shaking his head in defeat, he sighed softly and began to devour his plate.

--

TBC...

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A/N: I know, I know... You're gonna say they're out of character. But this was seriously a difficult chapter to write, so I can't do anything but apologize. So... _Hontooni__ gomennasai._ (Did it sound real or fake? Because I, too, have a serious lack of prior experience... Kukukuku...)


	4. A Sleepless Night

**WARNINGS: In this chapter, nothing much really, except this is unbetaed. Generally, YAOI (aka male/male relationship), VIOLENCE and INSANITY.**

**A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews and encouraging words! I already warned that I am a slow writer, so I don't bother to apologize that I'm such a slow updater. Just… try to bear with me! Thanks! -Lances**

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**Chained to an Escapist**

**by Lances**

**Chapter 4: A Sleepless Night **

--

Gin lay face down on his simple futon, breathing in the fresh scent of the crisp white sheets. It was late at night; how late, he didn't know, but the darkness outside was already impenetrable. There was no moon in the sky because it was thickly clouded, nor were there any pretty stone lanterns in the garden to create a consoling, cosy atmosphere. The only window in Gin's room looked into a small, enclosed courtyard, where only menacing blackness prevailed.

It had been a hellish day – hellish according to even Gin's torpid standards. Losing a few measly fingers in the morning was nothing compared to what he'd been forced to go through in the afternoon. But Gin didn't want to think about it. The meeting with the Kuchiki family council had possibly been the most terrifying, humiliating experience in his entire life, and thinking back on it would only drive him crazy. Or, crazier than what he already was. He could still feel the itch on his skin where he'd been touched against his will, and he could still hear the voices of those condemning noblemen (and noblewomen) inside his head, mocking him, sneering at him, pointing out his shortcomings, seeking out his flaws.

Gin shivered; he really didn't want to remember it, but he did. He didn't want to think about it, but he did. He didn't want to experience it again and again in his mind - not now, when everything was calm and quiet in the house, not now when the wind softly rattled the chimes outside in the darkness and lulled the world to sleep...

But he did.

Biting the inside of his cheek so hard it bled, Gin forced the horrendously torturous memories to recede. After all... at the moment, he was feeling relatively good. He was no longer in pain, at least not physically, and he was warm and comfortable. The drugs he'd been given earlier were finally taking effect, making him feel tranquil, relaxed and secure - almost even frighteningly so. He was also tired - no, more like _drained_ or _exhausted_ - but sleep, unfortunately, was currently among those bodily needs that had to be ignored. Gin could not doze off, no matter how much he wanted to; there was namely a list of certain _rules_ he had to memorize. Preferably before sunrise.

Against the dull protests of his body, Gin forced his face up from the invitingly soft pillow and returned his attention to the small, black-covered notebook he'd been given. A small candle stood on a silver tray next to his futon, illuminating his small room with a soft light; it was barely enough for someone to read, but Gin was too tired of getting up and fixing the situation. His eyes were already half blind from too much reading, but he could not stop. Not yet, not until he was certain he would remember these first fifteen rules by heart. Not until he was certain Kuchiki Byakuya wouldn't find another excuse to play with his zanpakutou tomorrow. Because, frankly, Gin wasn't ready to deal with yet another group of missing fingers in the near future.

**_Rule number 1: Always obey your master._**_ Never protest, never disagree, never question._

Yeah, sure thing! That would be easy. To remember the rule, that is; not necessarily to follow what it suggested. In fact, Gin would have to make tremendous sacrifices to his own basic principles if he ever hoped to adjust to complying with it. But there was no choice for him, was there? For the next few months, at least, he would have to try and adhere to Byakuya's every fad and whim. How the heck was he going to do it? Gin was certain it would all end up in a bloodbath; featuring _his_ blood, most likely.

**_Rule number 2: Never speak before you are spoken to._**_ In case of an emergency, or if you have something of considerable importance to say, ask for permission to talk by kneeling down in front of the person you wish to address, place a hand in front of you and bow._

Hah! As if he would ever want to say anything to Byakuya – or anyone else in that damned household for that matter. If not counted several curse words and a few selected insults, of course.

**_Rule number 3: Never look people in the eye. _**_Or anywhere close to their face, if it isn't absolutely necessary._

That is, if you're not willing to get your own eyes gauged out.

**_Rule number 4: Never embarrass your master. _**_Be polished, docile and always respectful, not only towards your master but his family and friends as well. As a general rule, try to please everyone around you._

For the umpteenth time that night, Gin heaved a sigh and then gently began to massage his temples. Reading these rules, he felt more like a caged animal than a human being – or, in this case, a shinigami. A caged, tortured, mistreated animal with a haunted look in his eyes. A wild animal. A creature not fit to be a pet; revolting, poisonous, impossible to domesticate. A waste of everyone's effort, time and life.

He swallowed the blood that had gathered on his tongue from where he'd just recently bit his cheek. It felt uncomfortable. Not only because it was blood he was swallowing, but also because he had yet to get familiar with the feeling of his Adam's apple moving up and down under the new, tight collar around his neck. Yes – a new collar. Not the red one he had been wearing earlier at Soukyoku, but a more exquisite, more deadly one, carrying the engraved platinum emblem of the Kuchiki clan in its centre. It was about one and a half inches wide, made of soft, pure white leather, and there were thin platinum wires threaded inside. Those wires were what made the damn thing so deadly. The collar was namely charged with reiatsu, more specifically Kuchiki Byakuya's reiatsu. It meant, of course, that should Gin once lift a finger against his new master, the collar would automatically start to constrict – and would, consequently, suffocate him to death.

Feeling morose, Gin glared at the small notebook in front of his nose, and it glared right back at him in mocking silence. Ten slow minutes slithered by as he concentrated on reading Byakuya's neat handwriting; then his head slumped forwards, his face sank into the pillow, his forehead hitting _rules number 9 _and_ 10 _in the process_,_ and his eyes fluttered closed. He really couldn't help it; he was just _so tired._ He hadn't slept in nearly forty-eight hours, after all, and even the sleep before that had been sporadic at best. The time he had spent unconscious earlier in the day didn't count, because that couldn't be considered as good, normal rest – and what his body needed right now was just that, good and normal rest. Not some weird short-circuits in his brain cells.

_No... No... This is bad... Get up...  
_

No matter how sweet the temptation to get some sleep was, he could not give in, even if the demands of his throbbing muscles were becoming harder and harder to resist by the minute. He had to stay awake and read. Study. Learn. _Remember_.

_Pull yourself together, Gin... Open your eyes... Come on, you can do it..._

A hand, shaking with exhaustion, reached out and removed the notebook from under his face. However, instead of lifting it up for a pair of bloodshot eyes to read, the hand pulled the book close to his warm, heaving chest, against the soft, dark blue fabric of his new _nemaki _– a gauze lined kimono robe designed specifically for sleepwear. In his mind, Gin still wished to continue studying, but his body was done obeying him. Apparently. And it wasn't like Byakuya could kill him for giving up, either, because he simply wasn't allowed to.

Gin smirked and curled into a more comfortable position. There wasn't much left of the candle, anymore – only half an inch or so – and Gin pondered whether he should make the effort of blowing it out. He decided against it when he realized the flame actually cast quite a reassuring sort of flush against his closed eyelids, making the dark night in the small, shadowy room seem a little bit less cold.

Ah, yes - his room. He had been given his own room. He didn't know exactly what he had been expecting – a jail in the cellar, maybe? – but this was a nice turn of events nonetheless. And it was a nice room, too; spacious and bright (when it wasn't night-time) and clean. In addition to his simple (but very comfortable) futon, there was a walk-in wardrobe filled with (what he assumed) clothes for him to wear; a massive, sinking western-style armchair with white upholstery next to a neat dressing table in the corner; a desk for studying and a small bookcase on the wall facing the window; a gigantic plant that stood almost a couple of feet taller than he was, and a soft, white, sinking carpet covering half of the polished, wooden floor. There was also a large painting of Chinese bellflowers on the wall that was otherwise left boringly blank and white, right above his bed.

But still, none of this relative extravagance could even compare to the fact that he had also been given his very _own bathroom_.

Lazily, with one eye only, Gin glanced at the direction of the door leading to this small, grey-and-black-tiled paradise. A real, private bathroom, where no-one could see him when he took a shower or a bath. Where no-one could stare at his wounds, his inflamed sealing tattoos, his deformed looks! After this morning's atrocities, Gin had honestly cried with relief when he had been allowed to clean himself up alone and in peace.

As if on cue, the green sealing marks on his back burned and he shifted against the sheets in mild discomfort. Quickly, he tried to think about something cheerful, but in vain; it was already too late. He was already falling into the darkness, and he couldn't pull himself up. The unpleasant thoughts he'd tried to avoid all evening finally managed to gnaw their way through his weakly built resistance with their razor sharp teeth - and now surfaced with vengeance, coming to plague him with terrifying intensity, no matter how desperately he tried to push them out of his fragile, unstable mind.

Despairingly, Gin moved his gaze to the flame of the candle and it flared, burning his retinas, making him see only golden white for a while. He felt bile rising in his throat, tasting of metal and blood, and he felt the need to spit it out, spit _everything_ out – but he resisted. He kept gulping everything down, even though it felt disgusting, because if he started vomiting now, he would never be able to stop. Shakily, he turned sides and pulled his knees up to his chin. Was it normal to feel nauseous still several hours afterwards?

_"So this is the man you are considering to take as your slave... Byakuya."_

The echo of that voice in his mind made his stomach clench again and again.

The room - or, rather, the hall – had been bright with sunlight, spacious and beautiful. Gin had entered it after Byakuya, having been escorted there by two male servants who had proceeded to chain him on the floor in the middle of the room from his ankles and wrists. There had been several people – most of them old rather than young – kneeling in their costly silk kimonos on the soft cushions lining the walls, all of them silent as statues as they had stared down at the blond-haired ex-captain with hardly concealed disdain. Gin had noticed not all of the family members were shinigami, but that didn't signify; their hatred and disgust had still been palpable enough to rival the bursts of angry reiatsu from those who were, or had once been. Gin had been completely drained of all energy in a matter of mere seconds.

_"You are aware, of course, that acquiring a slave is an action that brings forth a need of great responsibility."_

Gin had wanted to squirm; the voice had made him feel like there were suddenly thousands of beetles crawling all over his skin. And underneath it, as well.

_"I am aware of that, Grandfather Ginrei."_

Byakuya's voice had been just as cold and devoid of feeling as usually; it didn't seem like the room's menacing aura had been getting to him at all. And, Gin could tell from a professional's point of view, that aura had been _very _menacing. In fact, the whole damned meeting had probably been... no, it had _definitely_ been themost oppressive get-together Gin had ever in his life – both current and past – been forced to attend. That was even counting the ones held by Yamamoto-chotaichou when the old geezer had been hung over, heated and sexually frustrated at the same time.

_"He is not even fit for the position. He is too proud." _

_"Yes. But we mustn't forget he is here of his own free will."_

_"No doubt he has his own wicked reasons for agreeing to this farce. Dare I even ask why **you**_ _chose to participate in it."_

_"I, too, have my own reasons; although they are more private than wicked, sir."_

Confused, and not just a little overwhelmed, Gin had marveled at the formal manner of speech between the family members. Was it normal? Gin wasn't sure, because he'd never had a family of his own, but he was pretty sure it wasn't normal. Even in Hueco Mundo, between Aizen-sama and the Espada, the speech hadn't been so formal – and that speech had even been all business. So what the fuck was this? What kind of a family meeting was this?

Of course, Gin had already known from prior experiences that Byakuya was a frigid bastard, just like he had known Rukia-chan was a bit retiring and gloomy; but that the entire Kuchiki family could be so freaking callous, so obstinate, so inhumanly cold_? _There seemed to be a draconian order in the house, and it wasn't because of Kuchiki Byakuya. In fact, Gin no longer wondered how the dark-haired man had turned into an ice-block from the fiery, rowdy kid he once had been: it was the family's fault. The grandparents, the numerous uncles and aunts and cousins – all of them mostly faceless to Gin who wasn't supposed to even glance at their general direction – made even Byakuya's temper appear warm and gentle, if possible. There was no love lost in _this _family.

_"I sincerely hope this isn't yet another burst of ill-placed sense of rightfulness and responsibility like it was with Rukia-chan a few decades back."_

_"Such fears are completely unfounded, Sir. I have never had – nor will I ever have – the intention of adopting him as my brother."_

_"That is not what I meant. I just merely wanted to point out that there should be some limits to your generous goodwill. This is not a charity institute, but a noble home. And Ichimaru Gin is, for all purposes, a condemned criminal."_

_"There is nothing even remotely charitable in my actions, I can assure you. I have actual use for him."_

Gin had briefly wondered what use would a captain like Kuchiki Byakuya have for him, but had eventually decided he was better off not knowing.

_"So you are quite determined to see what comes out of this arrangement?"_

_"Yes, I am." _

_"And what if you don't want to keep him, after all?" _

_"He has these following three months to make a good impression on me. What comes after that depends solely on him."_

_"While it is a great responsibility to take care of a slave, it is an even greater one to send one to its death."_

_"I would never make such a decision without careful and profound consideration."_

Several other words in the similar, cold manner had been exchanged in the course of the meeting, but Gin could not remember them now. His memory was a bit fleeting like that. But, for the first time, he had to admit he was rather grateful for it, instead of being remorseful like usually. Of course, he would have been even more grateful if his memory had chosen to forget the moments _after _said conversation. Even now, over seven hours later, Gin couldn't think back without his heart painfully constricting in his chest. Kuchiki Ginrei had namely interrogated not only his grandson about this rather unconventional situation, but Gin as well. And with Gin, this former Captain and head of the family had not been callously polite, but ruthless and malevolent instead.

To sum it up, Gin hadn't been able do anything to defend himself at that meeting. On his knees, shackled onto the floor, he had found himself answering the council's questions with alarmingly raw honesty, entirely against his will. It was as if he'd been given some sort of truth serum or something, which was, of course, impossible. Or was it? Somehow, Gin didn't think it was so _entirely_ impossible anymore. Nevertheless, he had been asked several questions to which he'd not dared to answer as cockily as he would have wanted (especially since the majority of them were digging deep into the dark recesses of his private life) and he had been also brutally examined. Physically. He'd been forced to take off all his clothing and be medically examined by someone he didn't even recognize. Not even the long, dark shadows that licked the walls of the insanely large meeting hall had been able to hide Gin's blushing cheeks and rolling tears as he'd listened to the cruel, demeaning comments about his outer appearance – or, rather, the complete lack of it.

Gin still hated himself for having been so pathetic, so weak in front of the council; he had thought he had managed to push the feelings of inferiority out of his mind already decades ago. But he had been wrong. He had been so very, very wrong. No matter how much he had tried to calm himself down as the cruel words rained upon him…

…it had still hurt_._

Yes, he was anorectic and pale. Yes, he was bilious and plain. Yes, he knew there was something wrong with his eyes – a fault in his nerves system? What kind of a fault? Could it be treated? No? Pathetic. Yes, he looked disgusting; his hair was lifeless and limp and overgrown, his mouth too wide, his nose too sharp, his knees too bony, and his fingers – all remaining six of them – were too long and too thin. His expressions were plain ugly. Yes, he lacked bodily hair pretty much everywhere except his head – he was a freak. Yes, he had bruises and scars – both fresh ones and fading – all over his too-thin form; clearly he couldn't behave at all if he needed to be punished so severely and so often. Yes, there was something totally bizarre and unhealthy about the color of his skin; no-one could be naturally so pale; was he sick? Was it something infectious, perhaps? And what about his facial features – they were entirely too angular. Abnormal. Not to mention his face was also too thin, even gaunt. Hell, his entire _being_ was too angular and too thin and too abnormal; he was completely unappealing. He looked like a fox, or some other worthless wild animal; anything, that is, but a normal human being.

A new flicker of the rapidly dying candle made Gin surface from his memories, made him gasp for air. His chest felt so heavy right now, and the collar around his neck felt like a real halter. No-one had dared to voice those kinds of opinions when he'd still been a Captain of Gotei 13; no-one had dared to. No-one had been that foolish. But Gin knew, even though they hadn't voiced them, those mocking thoughts had still been there. They could be seen in the depths of their guarded eyes whenever Ichimaru Gin had come near. And during the countless decades, Gin had silently gotten used to dealing with them. He'd gotten used to being wordlessly scoffed at. So what made it different this time? Why was it so upsetting this time? Why couldn't he keep his emotions, let alone his tears, in control this time? Were those words, now finally spoken out loud, so much more hurtful than the silent stares and glares from before? Hell, he was supposed be _immune_ against these insults already, and yet...

He wasn't.

No-one with a human soul inside of their hearts could ever be.

Forehead damp with cold sweat, Gin balled his right hand into a fist so hard he felt his overgrown nails digging into the skin of his palm, leaving red crescents. The soft pillow beneath his cheek swallowed his tears as he was once again forced to face what he truly was: a low-class mongrel from Rukongai's dirtiest streets, nothing more. He had once been powerful, but no more. He had once even been grudgingly admired, at least by some – but no-one admired him now. He had lost his all, even his pride. Not one single ounce was left of that pride that had been thus far the protecting wall between his own world and the reality. He had lost it when that man, the physician, the faceless and nameless one who had so harshly examined him, had stuffed his fingers in Gin's ass in the course of the long process. It had been just to humiliate him, because Gin seriously doubted there could be any medical reason for such an action.

And humiliated Gin had been. Never in his life had he been more profoundly embarrassed. And never in his life had he liked Kuchiki Byakuya more than when the captain had silently wrapped the rags of what was left of his clothes around his trembling body, shielding him from further insults and accusations, and escorted him away.

They had broken him.

Gin knew that now.

But how could you possibly break something that wasn't even whole to start with?

Not able to hold in his supper any longer, Gin dazedly scrambled up from his bed and rushed into the bathroom. Falling onto his bony knees, weak and dizzy, he bent over the toilet seat and retched. He still felt those fingers inside his most private place… _twisting…_ _probing… teasing…_ He retched again. And again. And then, when there was nothing left to come out, he just slid on his back and lay on the cold floor tiles, staring at the high ceiling with unseeing eyes.

"Shit…"

His heart was beating so fast it hurt. His hands were trembling, and his lower back was hurting again. But it was calm. It was so silent and calm. Dark. Warm. Cold. Everything. There was a gentle scent of lavender soap floating in the air, and Gin realized his own skin faintly scented the same. He had washed away the filth, and now he was clean; at least as clean as he could ever become.

_"Ichimaru Gin is not a docile pet you can play with, Byakuya. I warn you; he will seriously complicate your life."_

Gin brought his hands to his new collar and touched the platinum Kuchiki emblem. There had been amusement laced in Byakuya's voice when he'd replied his grandfater; and somehow, right now… That memory made Gin smile, even just a little, even if his eyes were still shedding silent tears.

_"Yes, Grandfather. I expect that he will." _

--

TBC

* * *

A/N: This story will be rather long, because I don't like to rush it. I don't see Byakuya and Gin falling in love with each other overnight, anyway, so… Please try to bear with me. And I promise, these chapters will turn increasingly more cheerful in the future. Thanks for reading! –Lances


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